


Hope Dies Last

by WhiteLightWhiteHeat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Depression, Drama, Drug Addiction, Friendship, Gen, Hulk Feels, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Character Death, Science Bros, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, but it does get better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1462303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLightWhiteHeat/pseuds/WhiteLightWhiteHeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce has always been an optimist at heart. There have been times in his life where he almost lost hope, but it always lay dormant beneath the surface. The thing is, sometimes hope can only get you so far before you just need to let go and move on. Can Tony, Steve and the Avengers help Bruce move on, or will he be lost to them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The first few chapters are mainly focused on Bruce, looking at his past. Later on we will get to see from the point of view of other characters as well, but just bare with me for now.  
> Future chapters will be longer, and the prologue is the only chapter that will be fully italicized like this.  
> Reviews would be greatly appreciated as this is my first fic and I could use some feedback.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Tony was on his way down to Bruce's lab, ready to entice, or if that didn't work, force his friend to lunch. Tony had just been working on a new interface system for his suit when a jolt of pain in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten for over sixteen hours. With Pepper being away Tony could get lost in his work for days at a time without interruption._  
 _Much to the detriment of his health._  
 _He was well aware that Bruce was just the same. Obsession and genius usually went hand in hand. So that was why Tony, the philanthropist that he is, decided to drag the good doctor out to fill his stomach._

_Bruce had been losing weight recently, but Tony wasn't overly concerned about that. He wasn't on the verge of death so he was probably alright in that respect. What did have the billionaire concerned was the slow but sure change in Brucey boy's temperament over the past few months. At first when Bruce came to live in Stark tower, after the whole Aldrich Killian debacle which apparently made Bruce decide that his need for companionship outweighed his fear of staying in one place for more than a few weeks, he seemed happy. He spent a few weeks hanging out with the team, Steve being a fellow resident of the tower and the others dropping in and out as they pleased. He had spent a few weeks getting acquainted with his new lab and high-tech equipment, doing lots of little experiments often resulting in not so little breakthroughs._

_Things had started to change, just a little, when Bruce had turned his focus to fixing himself. After Loki it had seemed that he was almost ready to accept the other guy. With the right facilities and the enthusiasm garnered by being in a lab again, Bruce just couldn't resist. His optimistic side drove him forward, desperately believing that he could find a cure for his condition and actually go back to being happy again. Tony had given up the idea of trying to make him stop, deciding that Dr Banner just needed to work it out of his system. He was beginning to think he might be wrong, which was something Tony rarely felt. Bruce was not progressing very well, and as time past he became more withdrawn. He seemed depressed and on edge sometimes, then, more alarmingly, he often seemed distant, with this strange yet false air of happiness around him that Tony was sure was all for show, and something else he couldn't pinpoint and didn't want to. The mood swings were unnerving to say the least. Bruce was still joining him in joint research projects from time to time, but much less than he used to._

_Tony had arrived outside Bruce's lab. He entered totally unannounced as usual. This was how he came to find his friend, his science bro, slumped against a cupboard on the floor, seemingly unconscious, with a needle sticking out of his arm._


	2. Then Came Harlem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The triumphs and tragedies of Bruce's past never stifled the optimist inside of him. Until Harlem.

_**"As world falls, disintegrating into dust** _

_**hope will not perish, yet it must" - Unknown poet** _

Bruce Banner was, against all logic, an optimist at heart. A somewhat cynical and sardonic one, but an optimist nonetheless. Yes, he had suffered at the hands of his father, leading ultimately to tragedy. Bruce chose to remember not the pain, but the determination to be free of pain.  
As his tumultuous childhood faded into memory and Bruce grew into a brilliant young man, the optimist in him knew that it was easy sailing from here on out. He was entering college, a wonderful part of his life filled with discovery, top grades and most importantly, people who he truly connected with. His rational mind knew of course that happiness was no guarantee. This did not hinder his enthusiasm. For years his life lived up to the promise of his dream. His professors adored him. His peers admired him. As an unexpected bonus, he found that women were drawn to his witty, sarcastic charm and quite confidence.

Somewhere beneath the surface, anger was quietly bubbling away. For a long time he didn't really notice it. It lay in the background, like the dull ache of an almost healed injury, showing itself only in the occasional biting remark or seething glare, always catching the recipients off guard. As the young genius made the unusually smooth transition from student to researcher, he felt the anger start to boil. Long sleepless nights fueled by caffeine and obsession left the now Dr Banner on edge. His focus narrowed until he could no longer see the world outside of a laboratory, outside of radiation. Through the frustration and the rage that was visible in the broken bits of furniture in the one room apartment he inhabited only once a week or so, optimism still prevailed. He was close to something. He could feel it.

Then he met her. Bruce was recruited to work on a top-secret government project, using his expertise to recreate an old experiment involving a young soldier named Steve Rodgers. He was sure that the answer lay in Gamma Radiation. More important than any of that was a beautiful, intelligent, kindhearted woman named Betty Ross. Betty was the daughter of a General 'Thunderbolt' Ross. He and Bruce had never much cared for each other. Bruce and Betty however were quickly falling in love. With Betty in the picture, that simmering rage began to fade into the background once more.

Between his quickly advancing research and his beloved Betty, Bruce had never been so content. The optimist in him knew that it would last forever. Optimism combined with an excess of joy can result in recklessness. Bruce ignored his rational mind. Bruce had no boundaries. There was nothing that he could not achieve. He was a genius after all. This is what led to him staring up at a looming machine ready to transform into a super soldier.

Everything changed. He had come so far from the scared, angry little child who hid as his father beat his mother. He had come so far, and the accident had taken it all away in a moment.

After the accident, Bruce became desperate. He became angry again. Angry at himself and angry at the world. He learned quickly and painfully that he had to let go of everything he loved. He went into hiding, doing what he could for work in whatever third world country he found himself in. Bruce was devastated and alone, but still, the optimist in him won out. After all he had lost he still found it within himself to hope for a better future. He learned how to control it. Yoga, breathing techniques. He suppressed the rage. All the while he searched for a cure. He knew there was a way. He knew it. There were times when it got to be too much for him. Living constantly on the run was not exactly a low stress life style. There were times when he lost control. He didn't like to think about those he had hurt. Those he had killed. It was these times that he redoubled his search for a cure and thanked the powers that be for his single minded focus and obsessive tendencies. He didn't have time to dwell on the guilt and building sense of self loathing. He didn't have time to get angry.

Then came Harlem.

He had found it. He knew he had. Well, he hadn't known for sure. He made a point of being cautious, trying to lean from past mistakes. But the optimist in him knew that he was saved. He had found a cure. All he had to do was go to New York. So he went. He went and he found his beloved Betty once more. Once more, he felt his anger melt away in her presence. Even when they were almost caught and almost killed, saved only by the appearance of the other guy, he still continued to believe in a better tomorrow.  
He met up with the man who could save him. When he found out that the man wanted to use his blood for research his rational mind told him to turn and run. His hope quieted his concern. When it seemed that the procedure worked, Bruce felt his heart soar. He felt all the anger, all the pain dissipate into the atmosphere like warm breath in the dead of winter. Even when he was caught by General Ross, he knew that he was headed for a happy ending. He was cured. He had Betty by his side. Nothing else mattered.

Then came Harlem. Or more importantly, the giant monster that was tearing it apart. He knew that there was nothing else he could do. He knew that he was the only one who could help. As he jumped out of that helicopter, taking one last look, for whatever happened he knew he would not see her again, at his beloved Betty, a thousand thoughts swam through his head. The ones that stuck with him the longest though were the conflicting thoughts of his optimistic self. On the one hand, the optimist wished to live for hope that there would be a better tomorrow. On the other hand, the optimist wished to die, knowing that living meant the cure hadn't worked. When he woke up somewhere in British Columbia as Bruce Banner, the other guy dormant somewhere in the back of his mind, something in him was missing. Dead.

He had come so close and yet he had failed. Bruce had been used, manipulated and hurt. His poisoned blood had led to who knows how many deaths. He was alone, on the run, never to see Betty again. He had spent so long holding onto hope. The optimist in him had led to his accident. Had led to New York. Had led to this. They say that hope dies last. Sometimes it seems, it dies too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, all reviews would be immensely appreciated<3


	3. Coping Mechanisms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A down and out Bruce tries to leave it all behind. When that doesn't work, he finds a way to cope with what his reality has become.

The next few years blurred together. Bruce worked when he could. Ate when he could. He continued meditation, attempting to suppress that rage within him, directed entirely at himself. His optimistic self would have once told the haggard doctor that there will come a time when he will be okay again. That part of him was gone. His rational mind told him that there was no end. This was his life. Living day-to-day, attempting to avoid becoming a raging monster of death. There were times when he couldn't succeed in that endeavor and innocent people paid the price. He hated himself. He deserved nothing more than death. So he had gotten hold of a gun and bullets, ready to end it all.

He had sat alone in a room in an abandoned apartment complex in a ghetto of Cape Town, South Africa, a loaded revolver clasped tightly in his hands. The metal of the gun felt cool and soothing against his skin. He wondered not for the first time; _how did it come to this?_ His chest tightened and his stomach lurched. Bruce fought uselessly to suppress a sob. Tears streamed silently down his face. He was a genius. He had overcome so much. Had so much potential to change the world. There he was, hungry, dirty and pathetic, huddled in a corner with a gun in his hand, trying to work up the courage to end his own life. He told himself that he would save lives by taking his. He knew that this was what he deserved for the pain he had inflicted. He placed the barrel of the gun in his mouth.

When he woke up, he was in Zimbabwe, with no trace of humans anywhere in sight. He laid on the hard ground, under the harsh sun, for almost a day. He was empty. He was nothing. When he finally came out of the haze of numbness created by the realization of his failed suicide, he could hardly walk under the crushing weight of his own depression. The only thing that spurred him on to find the nearest village was the knowledge that the other guy would rear his head before Bruce managed to die of dehydration. It seemed that some part of his old optimistic self had carried on. It had allowed him to hope for death. It had allowed him to believe in a better world; the one he was no longer apart of. It seemed even that was beyond his reach.

Bruce moved on to South America. He did the bare minimum he had to for the sake of survival, but by no means was he a healthy man. Somewhere in the background was the ever-present buzz of his looming anger. Anger toward himself. Anger toward hope. He was tired of yoga and meditation. On the streets of Argentina, he had sought out something new to suppress the anger and the pain. It hadn't been hard to find. The first time Bruce got high he was in an alleyway, due to the fact that he had not had a place to stay at that time. He went out of his way to find a clean needle and thankfully the dealer he had purchased from had alcohol swabs. He also went to great lengths to safely dispose of the needle afterwards, some time after he had sobered up enough to stand. His blood was poison after all, and there were a lot of people who would have gladly taken a once used needle for there own use.

Bruce refused to drink alcohol because he knew that only led to emotional instability. Alcohol will exacerbate anger. His father had taught him that lesson. Opiates on the other hand offered a euphoric rush, followed by a feeling of peace and serenity. That was what he wanted. Reality had nothing left to offer him anymore. If he couldn't die then he needed to escape somehow. The heroin worked to suppress his anger, his hurt, better than anything he had ever tried. It replaced those feelings with something akin to enlightenment, or so he would have imagined enlightenment must feel.

Bruce continued to work when he could, still moving from country to country. He would shoot up when he had the means. Ever so slowly as the months passed by, his need for heroin began to outweigh his need for food and shelter. His need to escape had long been out weighing his need to live. He slept in alleyways, abandoned buildings, whatever, he didn't really care. If he had spent all his money on drugs then he would steal enough food to keep him from starving. He found it strange and disturbing as he made his way through the world that in many poorer places, smack was more readily available that food. In the moments of withdrawal, when he could not stop himself from feeling,anger at the sorry state of the world wormed into his gut. Bruce knew that he was well and truly addicted. He didn't care. It seemed to be that being a junkie was the best of all his possible options at the time.

As time passed, Bruce diverted his scrutinizing gaze away from his own failings and began paying more attention to the world around him. He watched as the poor starved. As the sick were deprived of the most basic of medical care. Even through the soothing haze of junk, he could still feel disgust at the way the innocent were left in squalor. There was a time when Bruce was young and full of promise and optimism that he believed he could change the world. He couldn't do that where he was, but he could do something. He started to devote his time to helping people. He used what medical knowledge he had, which was a pretty sound base, to treat those who would otherwise be left to die. He found that in return for his help, families offered him food and a place to stay. Bruce had been using for over a year, but after he began doing some good with his life, he found the urge to get high was dissipating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews would be very much appreciated. Give me one and I will respond with happy thoughts directed at you! How could you pass up a prize like that!?


	4. Rise and Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce finds happiness for the first time in a long time. The optimist in him knows that it will last forever. In reality, nothing ever lasts forever.

It was a slow and difficult process, but Bruce cut back on the heroin until he had managed to wean himself off completely. He couldn't afford to be fucked up when people were depending on his help. He still wanted it. Without it he was starting to feel that anger again, lying somewhere in the back of his consciousness. Meditation just wasn't the same, but he found that while he was helping people, he hated himself a little less. He was a little less disappointed that he wasn't dead. Every now and then, when a family he had helped hugged him and told him they would be forever grateful and opened up their home to him, he felt something close to happiness.

Then came the Avengers.

During that time, when Black Widow hauled him off to stop a God from taking over the world, Bruce felt things he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt the joy of a kindred spirit in Tony Stark. He felt a sense of belonging in the warmth of Steve Rogers. Even the Black Widow herself seemed too show him kindness. Yes, it wasn't all sunshine and lollipops. He had felt anger and he had felt fear, but all of that was negated by something he never thought he would feel to the day he died. He felt for the first time like the other guy may just have a place in the world. Bruce had helped to save the world, but the other guy had helped too. Bruce didn't hate himself so much by the time they had defeated Loki and his army.

Tony had made the offer for Bruce to stay in Stark Tower with him and work in R&D. He had actually invited all of the avengers to stay, offering each their own floor. Steve had accepted the offer, his animosity toward Tony replaced by an indefinable bond. Steve was eager to leave his isolation and the loneliness that came with being a man out of his own time in favor of some sort of companionship. Everyone else declined. Bruce would have liked to stay, but he couldn't feel safe in one place anymore, even with Tony's assurances that his security system was the best in the world. Bruce went back to his life of helping those most desperate, comforted by the knowledge that if he ever desired, there was a home waiting for him.

As the months passed on, Bruce's desire to take Tony up on his offer grew stronger. He found he thought about it often, usually with a smile upon his face. When he heard the news of Tony Stark's battle against Aldrich Killian, it pushed him over the edge. Bruce realized he was afraid. Even knowing that his friend was safe, hearing how close he came to harm still sent a jolt of fear through Bruce, who had carefully slowed his breathing and calmed his wildly beating heart. He had friends whom he missed. He had a home waiting for him. He had to go to New York.

When Bruce showed up at Stark tower, he was welcomed by JARVIS. The AI recognized his face and opened the doors, directing Dr Banner to the elevator and to the lab in which Tony was tinkering with some unknown gadget. It took several seconds before the billionaire sensed a presence in the room and lifted his eyes from his project. They widened with surprise. Apparently JARVIS had neglected to mention Bruce was coming up.

"Brucey boy, good to see you!" Tony exclaimed, surprise turned to enthusiasm.

"Good to see you too Tony. I'm glad to see you haven't gotten yourself killed in my absence."

"Thank Pepper for that. I'm pretty sure without her I would just stay in my lab working until I collapsed in a puddle of my bodily fluids and died of thirst. Anyway, how you been?" Tony inquired, still tinkering with his experiment.

"Offer still open on staying here?"

Tony responded by yelling at dummy to take Bruce's single measly bag to his designated room.

With that, Bruce was officially a resident of Stark tower. He was given his own lab which he excitedly put to use. It had been so long since he had been able to research whatever he wanted, using the most high-tech equipment available. When he was in there he felt like a twelve-year-old who had been given his very own toy store. He came to the realization that his optimistic self, the part of him he thought dead and gone, was actually alive and thriving. It seemed he was finally getting something like the life he had dreamed for himself. Part of him still mourned the departure of Betty from his life, but he had accepted that as a necessary loss some time ago. He almost thought himself past his anger. His rational mind knew that it was still bubbling away somewhere beneath the surface.

It took a few weeks for the scientist to get familiar with all the tech and equipment in his lab. During this time he also enjoyed the company of his team. His friends. There hadn't been an Avengers level threat since Loki, so each was busy with their own life. However everybody came by the tower often enough. Everybody seemed pleased to see Bruce. Even Natasha, in a slightly reluctant way. Of course, Steve lived in the building, but he spent much of his time in his custom-built gym. He worked for the army from time to time, agreeing to help with training some of the special ops soldiers, but this was not an everyday job. Tony of course continued to work on his suit and on creating more efficient fuel sources. Thor did whatever gods do, and Natasha and Clint where always very vague about what they do when they're not at Stark tower.

Once Bruce had acquainted himself with his lab, it came time to start a serious project. He was trying to decide on what exactly he should research first when he felt a nagging pull and the edges of his mind. His optimistic self was whispering a promise of hope in his ear; _what if you can fix yourself? You have the gear, you have the time, you have the safety_ ; Bruce couldn't resist the pull.  
Ever since the accident he had been on the run. It was no wonder he hadn't been able to find a cure. Now though, he had everything he needed. He became absorbed in his work. That old yet familiar feeling of obsession was creeping its way to the surface. Nobody thought twice of course. Dr Banner was a scientist after all and Tony was just the same. It hardly seemed amiss when he forgot to eat or sleep because his work occupied every space in his mind. Tony would come into his lab now and then and offer any help he could.

When Tony first became aware that Bruce was trying to find a way to 'fix' himself, it annoyed him to say the least. He may have ranted for a while about how the big guy saved his life and how Bruce was being a moron. Bruce may have quietly ignored him while his anger and frustration built up ever so slowly. After that first time though, Tony, in a very unTony-like way, resigned himself to the fact that Bruce would do what he wanted. If that was the price he paid to keep his one intellectual equal around, then fine. After that they actually started to have fun when they worked together, making the occasional small breakthrough or doing highly experimental side projects. Mostly though, when Tony wasn't there, Bruce was just frustrated at his lack of progress. He felt his hope slowly beginning to fade again.

After several months, Bruce was nowhere. The scientist could feel the self loathing begin to rise up again. He could feel the pain. The anger at the fact that he may never find an answer. His cravings for the best form of relief he knew had come and gone a few times throughout the years, but ever since beginning his research at Stark tower, the cravings had come back with a vengeance. At this point, he wasn't sure why he was fighting it. He was on edge, ready to snap at any point. He couldn't let that happen and risk hurting his friends and breaking yet another part of New York. He already had a good supply of needles and syringes thanks to Tony's copious amounts of any and everything remotely sciencey that was stored in the tower. On the streets of NYC, how hard would it be to find a dealer?  
Bruce decided he needed to go for a walk.

He had caught a cab to one of the seedier parts of the city, known for high rates of drug trafficking. He had walked along the streets for a short while, knowing just what to look for, before coming to a corner where a young, scraggy looking man stood against a wall, keen eyes scanning the area for potential customers, finally landing on Bruce. He simply nodded, inviting Bruce to approach. The exchange was quick and easy, the dealer walking away a bit richer and Dr Banner walking away a bit closer to peace.

Not an hour later, Bruce sat in a corner in his lab. He was planning to stop by the lab to grab the needles and head to his room, but once there he found he couldn't wait. Bruce rolled up his sleeve, beginning the comfortingly familiar ritual. He tied a piece of rubber tubing around his bicep as a tourniquet, watching the veins on his left arm pop out. He noted the old scars from the last time. Very briefly he forgot the euphoria and remembered the sickness. The pain that came with trying to quit. The inability to function, stealing and sleeping in the streets just so he could remain detached from reality. Then he found a vein on his forearm, remembering how worth it would be if he could just feel the feeling he knew was coming next. He inserted the needle and slowly depressed the plunger. The anger, the hurt, it all dissipated.

For the next few months, Bruce sunk slowly deeper into his heroin haze. At first he limited himself to times when he was particularly stressed, but it wasn't long before it was a daily undertaking. When he was high, he could do his research, not caring if he got nowhere. He could tolerate even the knowledge that he may never find a cure. When he was high he floated above such problems. He was getting thinner, which Steve noticed and queried, with the good doctor explaining that he just gets caught up in his research and forgets to eat sometimes. Bruce wasn't so thin as to be unhealthy, so the captain left it alone. Tony noticed Bruce's odd mood swings. When he was coming down from a high, reality came rushing back to him. With that came the ever intensifying self loathing at his uselessness. In those moments, his depression shone through enough for Tony to know all was not right. Tony was even more concerned by the detached cheer he often encountered on his journeys into Banner's lab. The others too had noted something was strange, but it was hard to place the problem when they didn't see Bruce all the time. Bruce though was thankful for his relative solitude. And luckily for him, Stark Industries paid high enough wages to their R&D employee that he could afford to be fucked up most of the time.

Bruce had become more careless as he lost himself further in his self destruction. He and Tony often worked on projects together, which Bruce genuinely enjoyed, but it was hindering his ability to shoot up. He would say he was going to the bathroom and come back completely out of it. He was fortunate to have a brain powerful enough he could compensate, but he knew that his friend must have noticed his change in demeanor. Sometimes, more often than not now, when Bruce was working alone on his search for a way to reverse the effects of the gamma radiation, he would just shoot up in his lab. It was reckless. Anybody could walk in. It was still better than waiting.  
He would sit on the floor with his back against a cupboard and go through the blissful, sickening ritual and ride out the high until he was coherent enough to continue working. Sometimes he didn't even remember to take the needle out until he stood up.

This was how Tony Stark found his friend, his science bro, Dr Bruce Banner, when he walked into the genius' lab to see if he wanted to go eat something; slumped on the floor, barely conscious, with a needle sticking out of his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you could throw a review my way it would really help my motivation levels. Come on. Do it. For the children.


	5. Dissbelief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finds Bruce passed out in his lab. Tony tries to make sense of the situation while Bruce just wants to leave it alone.

"Oh fuck."

Tony stood frozen. He felt the sting of bile rise in his throat and the familiar tingling of panic beginning in his fingertips. It had been almost two months since his last panic attack. Bruce had done it. He'd been concerned about the changes in his friends behavior over the recent months but he thought Bruce new that... He had hoped his friend would come to him before things got this bad.  
Before he tried to kill himself again.

Tony snapped into action, adrenalin kicking in. He sprinted to Dr Banner's side and dropped to his knees.

"Bruce! Brucey Boy!" He tapped his hand against Bruce's cheek. "Wake up Bruce. C'mon, show me those puppy dog eyes the girls go mad over."

_Please be alright..._

Bruce's eyes fluttered and he let out a small moan. Tony felt relief flood through his body. The problem wasn't over yet but at least he wasn't dealing with the problem of a corpse. He felt himself begin to go into what he thought of as 'Iron Man Mode,' Channeling the adrenalin rush and taking stock of the situation at hand. He moved his hand down to feel for a pulse. It was slow but strong beneath his fingers. He held his hand beneath the doctor's nose and felt warm, shallow breaths. He looked down at the needle inserted into Bruce's arm and wondered what toxin the man had injected into his blood stream in his attempt at self annihilation. He reached down and gently pulled the needle out, glancing up as the man beside him began to stir.

"Tony?" Bruce slurred as he noticed his friend kneeling over him. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing? Making sure you didn't manage to off yourself is what!" Tony exclaimed in indignation.

Bruce looked up at him, confusion etched into strained features. _Off himself? Wha_ \- His eyes widened in alarm at the sight of the needle in Tony's hand, which did not escape Tony's notice. He immediately sat up straight, pushing himself away from Tony and on to his feet. He still leaned heavily on the workbench behind him for support, however, having only shot up about a half an hour ago, his body and mind were still sluggish from the drugs.

"It's not what it looks like, really! I wasn't trying to kill myself," Bruce reassured his obviously distressed friend.

"Sure, because you would never do a thing like that would you," Tony said, hearing the slightest hysteria creeping into his voice.

"That's not what this is. I swear!"

Tony eyed Bruce up and down, noticing the constricted pupils, the waxy pallor, and the fact that the man in front of him seemed to struggle to concentrate. If Bruce was really trying to kill himself then why hadn't he hulked out? Why was he able to just stand up and start talking? No, this wasn't right. Bruce wouldn't try that again unless he was damn sure it would work. He wouldn't be willing to risk transforming in the tower. Tony's eyes drifted down to where he had pulled the needle from hi friends arm. It as pretty clear this wasn't the first time a needle had gone into those veins.

"So what the fuck is it then?" Tony asked, anger beginning to mix with the panic.

"I... Tony..." Bruce stuttered, struggling to take in the situation.

"Bruce, are you fucking high right now?" Tony asked, rage and disbelief intermingling in his voice.

Bruce felt fear begin to bubble and thought fast as his buzz began to quickly fade. How could he explain this? Say it was an experiment? Tony wasn't stupid. Bruce could see in his eyes that he was already piecing things together. Still, as much as he knew denial was useless it didn't make it easier to come out with the truth. This didn't stop an angry Tony Stark from wanting answers.

"Please tell me this is just a one time thing. Y'know what, scratch that. I can see from the marks on your arms that it isn't. Is this what's been wrong with you? This is why you've been acting like a basket case recently? Do kindly answer one question for me will you buddy: What's wrong with you?!" Tony seethed sarcastically, watching the man in front of him grow paler with every word.

"Do I have to name just one thing?" Bruce tried to joke.

Tony stared unflinching at Bruce, who couldn't bring himself to meet his friends eyes. They stood silent for almost a minute. Tony noted the way his friend fidgeted, scratching his forearm, rolling down the sleeves of his shirt. He looked so pale, so tired, and just on the edge of being a healthy weight. Tony felt the anger seep away. His friend needed help, that much was obvious.

"This isn't a joke Bruce," Tony said calmly. "I'm not sure how long you've been doing this to yourself, but it needs to stop."

"Why? It's not like it's going to kill me," Bruce replied defensively.

The response caught Tony off guard. Bruce was a genius, surely he could understand why this was a stupid thing for him to be doing! Then again, the mans self preservation instincts had long left something to be desired.

"Maybe not physically, but that doesn't mean you wont destroy everything worth living for. I've seen people go down that road before and I'll be dammed if you're going to be one of them."

"I don't need you to decide what's good for me. My body doesn't work like yours okay? Specifically, you don't turn into a monster when the pressure gets to be to much! This helps me!" Bruce was beginning to seethe, but the drug in his system kept him from full blown rage.

"That's bullshit and you know it!" Tony countered. "You've gone years without an incident before the Avengers and when it came time you actually channeled the Hulk and saved lives! Don't pretend that this is about control because we both know you can deal with the other guy by now. This is about getting high! This is about the fact that you wont stop obsessing over the idea of fixing yourself but you can't, so your trying to find a way to escape yourself instead! And you know what big guy? I can relate to that. I really can. God knows I drank away enough of my life, but don't for one second think I'm going to watch you throw everything away." Tony's voice softened and he took a step towards Bruce, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You're better than this."

Bruce finally met Tony's eyes. He held his gaze for a moment before speaking sadly.

"I'm sorry Tony but I'm not. I'm really, really not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the cool kids will review this chapter. What's the matter, don't you want to be cool? Punk.


	6. Confrontation or Lack There Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce walks out leaving Tony to stew. Steve doesn't know how he could have missed a problem so big.

Bruce's eyes darted to the floor once more. Tony watched silently as his friend walked past him, muttering something about going for a walk.

"If I get even the slightest hint you're about to flit off to some far away country just to avoid the issue just know I will be on you so fast you'll think you were struck by lightning. This is _not_ over."

Bruce didn't turn around but Tony knew he had understood by the way his spine stiffened. He watched his friend walk out of the room and suddenly felt exhausted. He couldn't rest yet though. He had a doped up scientist to keep track of and questions that needed to be answered. Starting with one that was particularly disturbing him.

"JARVIS! Why the hell didn't you tell me about all this?"

"I apologize sir. I was not aware of the problem as I am programmed to only come on in Dr Banner's laboratory when you enter the room."

Tony's face contorted with confusion.

"What are you talki- Oh you have _got_ _to be fucking with me_! The little shit hacked me!"

Tony was beyond annoyed, and although he would never admit it, rather impressed. To be able to hack into Tony's system, successfully reprogram it, and not even be noticed... Well if he wasn't certain Bruce was a genius before this would confirm it. JARVIS seemed to realize this too.

"Sir, I know that Dr Banner has breached security protocol, but perhaps a raise would be in order?"

"Yeah maybe I'll do that. A big raise and a bigger kick in the head. Sort of like 'You're a genius and I'm glad that you came to work with me, but you're also a moron and I'm going to confiscate you're lab if you don't stop acting like one.'

"Very good sir."

Tony left the lab and walked aimlessly for over an hour until he found himself in the kitchen. He wished that Pepper was there. He missed her. When stress levels ran high she had a way of grounding him like nothing else could. Unfortunately with her work she was often absent from the tower for long stretches of time, dropping in for a day or to before having to leave again. It used to be that he would substitute her absence with alcohol, but those days were passed. He limited his drinking to a celebratory glass of champagne or some wine at a social event here and there. It seemed a particularly inappropriate response given the situation. He would have to call Pepper later.

At that moment Captain America himself strolled into the kitchen to prepare one of his enormous meals to fuel that insane metabolism of his. He looked up at Tony with a friendly smile that quickly fell from his face when he saw his friends expression.

"Tony what's wrong? Tell me what happened," Steve said worriedly.

Tony just shook his head and tried to smile.

"It's nothing cap. I'll sort it out."

Steve looked unsure. Tony honestly didn't know why he was pretending there wasn't a problem. He wasn't protecting Bruce by keeping his secret. Maybe it would be better to just come clean on the matter.

"Actually scratch that. There is a problem. Tell me, have you noticed anything off with Bruce lately?"

Steve looked pensive for a moment, concern for his team mate growing. Well yeah, Bruce had been off lately but it couldn't be anything too bad right? Steve would have seen if the problem was getting out of hand. He was the team leader after all and it was his job to protect these people.

"He's been quiet. Losing a bit of weight. But that's just him working too much right? I mean maybe he's been a bit down but it hasn't seemed too bad to me. Why, what happened?" Steve asked, though he had a feeling he wasn't going to like where this conversation was going.

"Yeah, well, it turns out there's a little more to it than just over working himself." Tony said cryptically.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he... How should I say this? Today I found him passed out in his lab. Turns out the reason he's been strange these past few months is because he's on drugs. Opiates, specifically," Tony felt his chest tighten with a pang at saying the words.

He watched the look of horror spread across the captains face. Steve felt his stomach drop. This couldn't be right. Bruce wouldn't do something so stupid. He ran over it in his mind. He hadn't seen the doctor very much recently. Between their times spent in the lab and the gym respectively they really didn't spend much time around each other. Sure there were Tony's team bonding nights, but Bruce always seemed okay for that. A bit quiet, but okay. Could Steve have really missed something so big?

"Don't beat yourself up cap, I missed it to," Tony said, seeming to read his mind. "The man's a genius. He knows how to hide. He's made a life out of hiding."

"Well if this is true then we have to make him stop! He's a part of a team. We need to know he'll be able to back us up when the time comes." Steve pause momentarily."We need to know he's going to be alright," he said sadly.

"Yeah we can try to make him stop but I was talking to him earlier and I don't get the feeling that he's eager to end this. I mean c'mon cap you know the guy. If we push him too hard he's just going to run."

"Well we can't just do nothing!" Steve yelled.

The two men stared at one another. Tony calm and Steve bristling. After a moment Steve deflated. They both needed time to think, to consider their options before confronting their troubled friend.

"We wont do nothing. I don't know what we will do yet, but we wont do nothing, alight?" Tony reassured. "I need to take care of some things [ _I need too talk to Pepper_ ] but we'll discuss this later. We'll get through to him, even if I have to beat some sense into him myself."

Tony exited the kitchen, carrying tension throughout his body as he walked. Steve was left alone to consider their options. He would have to confront Bruce. It wouldn't be fun, but he needed to get answers. Maybe it would all turn out to be some colossal misunderstanding.

Right. Like it could ever be that easy for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst, kid. Wanna buy some more chapters? Leave a review and you'll find your chapter in a paper bag over by the dumpster.


	7. Fists and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce goes walking and finds trouble along the way. Tony is not impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this chapter is not entirely up to standard but admit to being not entirely sober while writing the second half of it.

Bruce walked aimlessly through the streets of New York. He knew it would happen eventually. He hadn't been careful and now it would all come crumbling down around him. Story of his life.

He was well aware that he was in the wrong here. Tony had given him a job and a home. Every single one of the Avengers had given him friendship. They didn't treat him like the monster he knows he is. Yet there he was, isolating himself and squandering their kindness away on self pity. Doing everything he could to escape reality and leaving them behind in the process. He knew it was wrong.  
That didn't mean he was going to stop.

He found that being a rich junkie was significantly less degrading than being a poor one sleeping in alleyways in South America. He had privacy and access to clean materials. He could afford to take only the most pure dope. Unfortunately all those benefits came with the price of friendship. He had so many people to let down now. So many people to disappoint. If he just stopped... but he couldn't do that. He's _pathetic_. So fucking _pathetic_.

Bruce contemplated leaving. He wanted to. It had always been a comfort to know that he could fly worlds away from all he's problems and go to a place where no one knew him or cared what he did. He could help others or hurt himself as he pleased and so long as he evaded the people trying to hunt him down, none of it mattered. He took Tony seriously though. That man had his ways and trying to leave while things were this tense wouldn't end well. He'd never make it over the boarder before his friend ha donned the Iron Man suit and dragged him back by his shoe strings.

“Hey man, aren't you the guy from that time the Aliens tried to kill us all?”

Bruce ignored the young man calling out to him and kept walking, picking up his pace a little. He was not in the mood to deal with some kid looking to see the freak show.

“You are aren't you! Your the green dude! Hey green dude do your thing. C'mon I want to see the thing!” called out the obnoxious twenty-something.

People were staring in their direction now and Bruce realized he couldn't walk away without confrontation. He spun around to face the offending individual.

“Look, I'm really not in the mood for this alright? Leave me alone,” He said tensely, eyes darting to the gathering crowd. He could hear people whispering words like 'hulk' and 'freak,' pointing in his direction.

“Hey don't be an asshole man just do the thing you do and I'll leave you alone. It's a simple request I pay taxes that pay your wage so I think you should do this for me,” he said, smiling smugly.

Bruce just stared in disbelief. The guy was clearly a moron. Bruce felt his frustration and anger rising, the drug haze cleared enough that he was having trouble dealing with the ridiculous situation.

“First of all, I don't work for the military or the government so no, your taxes do not pay my anything. Second, leave me the fuck alone and turn on the TV if your looking for entertainment. I'm not here for idiots to gawk at,” he said, almost shouting by the time he was finished.

The young man stepped closer to Bruce, apparently offended. He radiated self righteousness and when he opened his mouth to speak, Bruce just snapped. He felt his mind distance itself as his body took over, anger controlling his movements.

“I don't think you-” and that was all he could say before Bruce's fist connected with his face.

Everything seemed to stand still in that moment, the young man barley registering what had happened. The small crowd dead silent. Everything stopped. But the moment passed and the two were at each others throats. Bruce punched and pushed, feeling his a few good hits land on his own body in return. Bystanders called out in shock, some egging them on. Bruce was caught up in the moment, completely focused on inflicting injury. He looked down at his fist as it connected with his combatants abdomen and pulled back in horror. It was tinted green.

The people around him jumped back as Bruce violently pulled himself away from the fight.

“Stop! No. I don't want to do this,” He said trying to slow his heart and calm the man in front of him. “Please. I'm sorry I hit you, but I need to go now, alright? Let's just walk away from this.”

The young man stared Bruce in the eyes, his breathing heavy. He wiped a trickle of blood from his lip. Bruce looked imploringly at him, his anger gone in heart beat, panic taking over. The young man nodded and turned away, skulking off in the other direction. The crowd dispersed and Bruce, with quick strides and determination, found the nearest alleyway and collapsed. He curled up against a wall and took deep, slow breaths. Using practiced techniques he brought his heart rate down and felt the thing inside him retreat to the back of his mind ready to claw its way out another time.  
Once he had returned to an acceptable state of calm he pulled himself up and walked back to the tower.  
What the fuck had he done?

**###Avengers###**

“What the fuck have you done?”

Bruce just stared open mouth at Tony, who was waiting for him in the foyer of the tower. The man did say he was watching him, but Bruce had hoped in vane that the incident with the obnoxious kid might have been missed. To say the least, Tony was pissed.

“A video of your little confrontation was uploaded to the internet. Your damn lucky JARVIS pinged it and made a virus to erase all traces of it from the face of the earth before somebody like Fury got a hold of it! Not before saving a copy for me first, obviously,” Tony snapped, shooting Bruce an 'explain yourself' look.

 _Well that was fast_ , thought Bruce. The fight had only happened about 45 minutes ago. Not that he had really expected anything else.

“I know it was stupid. I don't know what happened. I just... lost it. I lost it.”

Tony's silence was unnerving. His eyes gleamed with frustration. Bruce could see the criticism perched in the edge of his tongue. No words came out. In the silence he felt the judgment of his friend and the weight of his failure pushing down on his soul and he felt a wall within himself shatter.

“Tony. I'm sorry. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing okay I can't control myself! I try to live up to your belief in me. Everyone’s belief in me! I just can't because no matter what I do there's this... this anger, bubbling away inside me. Anger at the world. Anger at myself! And I'm a fucking failure alright and maybe when I'm high I don't have to think about all that and I can just feel good without being afraid of hurting anybody! I'm sorry okay I'm sorry for all of it I never meant... any of it. I'm so sorry Tony.”

Bruce's whole body was shaking, tears beginning to drip from watering eyes. He wanted so much to just trust in the love of his friends. He wanted so much to be worthy of it. Tony just stood slack jawed at the emotion pouring from his friend. Even when Bruce had admitted to his suicide attempt that time on the airship he had been so composed that it was almost easy to distance himself from the significance of the admission. It was easier to think of it as in the past. Over. Not to worry. This was different though. The pain was right there, laid out in front of him. There was no distance any more. Tony's heart twisted in his chest.

“Let us help you Bruce. Let us help you get better,” Tony pleaded. “Please.”

“I don't want to get 'better' Tony. That's the problem, you see. I'm managing alright? I don't want to hurt you but I don't know what else to do. I can't die unfortunately so I'm doing what I can to make life work for me,” Bruce said, voice chocked with tears.

It had been so many years since he had broken down in front of another person. He tried his best to regain composure but the hurt in his friends eyes was too much to bare. Tony stepped towards him. He collapsed into his friends arms and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heroin may be Bruce's drug of choice but reviews are mine and I'm dying for a fix. Be cool guys. Give me what I'm craving.


	8. Angry Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony, Steve and Bruce all sit down for a friendly chat. If only things could be so simple.

Bruce and Tony sat silently in the recreation room that had become the teams common area, along with the kitchen and dining area on the same floor. Bruce was collapsed on a couch with his eyes shut while Tony sat tensely in a chair opposite him. Neither had said a word since entering the room.

After his breakdown the other day Dr Banner had retreated to his room where he had remained for about 36 hours. Tony had a pretty good idea of what he was doing in that time. Finally he had emerged, and according to JARVIS, made himself a sandwich before taking his place on the rec-room couch. Tony had left his lab where he had been obsessively working (more obsessively than usual even) to come and have a chat with the man sitting across from him. That was an hour ago.

"Are you going to talk or are you just here to stare at me? I mean I know I'm pretty but this is starting to get creepy," Bruce said suddenly, causing Tony to jump a little.

Bruce shifted so he was sitting up and looked Tony in the eyes, who pretended he didn't notice the constricted pupils.

"You hacked JARVIS. He only came on in your lab when other people were there with you. As crafty and devious as that is of you, and we know those are traits I admire, I think you should know you hurt JARVIS's feelings," Tony said, the demand for an explanation clear beneath his words.

"Oh yeah, that," Bruce looked sheepishly at the ground. "That wasn't actually... I didn't do that for the reason your thinking."

"Yeah? You mean you weren't trying to keep the fact that you're on drugs a secret? Is that the reason you were referring to?" Tony said, accusatory.

"I did that when I first got here. Before I started... using. It wasn't about hiding things or keeping secrets. That was just a useful side effect," he attempted to joke.

"Really," queried the other man sceptically. "So why did you do it then?"

"Because when you spend years of your life being hunted and watched the idea of being under constant observation can be unnerving."

Tony seemed mildly surprised by the admission, but his eyes held mainly sympathy.

"You weren't under observation. JARVIS wasn't there to report on you, he's just good to have in the labs for security reasons, not to mention he's dammed helpful."

"Yeah I know that, I do. It just made me uncomfortable. I thought about just talking to you but honestly, I didn't want to come off as paranoid. It was easier just to hack you. Sorry JARVIS."

"No harm done, Dr Banner. In fact you manage to uncover several flaws in the security system that have now been fixed."

"Yeah yeah, let's not pat him on the back too much, alright?" Tony cut in, smiling slightly.

They lapsed back into silence again, only a more comfortable one this time. The issue at hand still hung thick in the air, but at least they were talking calmly now. That was, until Steve walked into the room.

"Hey cap," Bruce said, looking up as he noticed Steve walk in without taking a seat.

Steve stood firmly in place, staring down at his team mate. His eyes held disapproval and concern. The friendly smile fell from Bruce's face, replaced with weariness.

"Tony told you then," he said, glancing over a Tony, who shrugged innocently.

"Yes he did. I think we need to talk about this Bruce."

"You might not like the way that conversation goes," he replied sincerely.

"Why don't you take a seat cap," Tony offered.

Steve took a chair from the other side of the room and brought it over so he was sitting next to Tony, opposite Bruce. The tension in the room was beginning to rise again. Bruce shifted uncomfortably where he sat. He and the captain were friends, sure, but not like he and Tony were friends. He trusted the man with his life unquestioningly, but no so much with his personal demons.

"You need to stop this. You know you do," Steve stated sternly.

"I don't think that's going to happen, cap. I'm sorry."

And he was sorry. Truly. He didn't want to hurt anybody. Quite the opposite in fact. That apparently didn't satisfy his friends.

"You're hurting yourself. You can't expect us to just sit back and watch," said Steve, while Tony just continued to watch the exchange thoughtfully.

"You're right. I don't expect you to be a passive observer in this situation. That doesn't mean I'm going to do what you want me to."

"How long has this been going on anyway?"

This time it was Tony who spoke. The question had been on his mind for a while. He was hoping this was a new habit. It might be easier to deal with if it had only been going on for a few months. Bruce looked at Tony.

"Do you mean how long has it been going on _this_ time, or when did it _start_?"

Tony hesitated for a moment. _This time_ , he had said. Which suggested there was a _last time_. Maybe even a time before that. Which meant that this was a relapse, and those were much harder to recover from than the initial addiction. Back in his party days he had known a lot of people who had fallen under the spell of a wide and varying array of drugs, and a lot of them recovered, but most of the ones who relapsed didn't come back from it. It had been hard to watch, particularly since he wasn't exactly the picture of sobriety and good mental health himself up until fairly recently. He shook those thoughts from his head.

"When did it start?"

Steve and Tony both looked on at Bruce curiously, who was calm, though no longer meeting their eyes.

"Years ago. After Harlem. After I lost... after I lost Betty again."

He had moved on from her. Enough time had gone by to allowed him to leave Betty in his past. That didn't mean it didn't still hurt to think about losing her.

"But you recovered," said Tony. "You stopped."

"Yeah I did. Do you know what it's like in some parts of the world? It's easier to get drugs than to get food. It's easier to get a gun than health care. People needed my help, and given my situation at the time there was really nothing else I had to offer the world but to help those people. Couldn't afford medical supplies if all my money went towards getting wasted."

The way Bruce spoke was clinical. Detached. He knew they wanted answers and that they deserved his honesty, but that didn't mean he liked talking about all of this. Still, it was better than talking about the present. Or worse yet, his future.

"So why'd you start again?" asked Steve, his voice still holding an edge.

"Does that really matter?"

"Perhaps not. It matters that you think you can go on like this though," said Steve.

Steve honestly wasn't sure how to handle the situation. He had very little experience in this regard. He was trying to be empathetic but was having a difficult time with it. He had always been so connected. He liked things crisp and clear, to be in the action. It was difficult to understand how somebody could choose to live in a permanent haze. He was hoping to show caring, but was coming across more as a stern wannabe father figure trying to discipline a delinquent child. Bruce, who by necessity has been fiercely fighting against anyone or anything seeking to control him since he was a child, was not responding well to Steve's demeanor.

"What can I say cap? Guess we're going to have to agree to disagree," replied Bruce defensively.

"What do you expect us to do here Bruce? We can't let you keep doing this to yourself."

"So what, you're going to force me to get clean then? Lock me away in cage somewhere and force me through withdrawal?"

"That's not what I'm saying Bruce. You need help and we can help you, that's all."

"I don't want your help! I don't want it and I don't need it!"

Tony watched the exchange silently, feeling his muscles become rigid. Bruce was beginning to yell. This wasn't going so well.

"You do need help. You have a problem and you can't be trusted to protect anybody when you're refusing to protect yourself! How can I keep you on the team like this?" Steve shot back, his own frustration showing through.

"You're going to kick me off the team?" Bruce asked in disbelief. "Fine then. Fuck it, I don't need to be here! I was doing fine before S.H.I.E.L.D tracked me down and forced me into the mess that was the Tesseract. I was doing fine before I stupidly decided that it might be nice to have an actual home and came to live here. I was helping people. I was sober. I was something close to content! I didn't ask for your help and I don't need to be here!"

Bruce's hands were shaking from a combination of rage and drugs. His heart was beating heavily in his chest despite his medicated state. Tony noticed a flash of green in his eyes and decided he needed to intervene.

"Bruce! Calm down alright. Take a few deep breaths. Nobody is going to force you to do anything," Tony said with hands raised in a placating gesture. "Steve! You need to back away right now. We will talk later."

Steve stepped back, realizing that he had allowed the situation to get out of hand. Bruce was usually so in control and rational that he had almost expected it would be easy to get him to see sense. It was becoming clear that perhaps his friends emotional state was more fragile than he predicted. He nodded at Tony apologetically and left the room.

Tony turned back to Bruce, who had stood at some point in the argument and was now leaning over with one hand braced against the back of the couch for support while he used the other to feel the pulse on his neck, taking slow, deep breaths in an effort to bring his heart rate down.

"He really does mean well you know."

"I know," replied Bruce.

"That temper is starting to get a little out of control it seems," said Tony lightly.

"You should have seen me as a grad student," Bruce countered.

"Do you think it would help you if you left?"

Bruce was thrown by the question. He was considering bolting off to some distant land, sure, but he fully expected Tony to try to stop him if he did.

"I don't know. Maybe. Or maybe I'd just go back to how it was before, with no money left over at the end of the day for food and a place to sleep."

"Is that what you want?"

Bruce thought carefully before answering, his heart finally under control.

"That isn't what I want. It's been a long time since I've spent a night passed out in a alleyway, or stealing to support my habit. I sure as hell don't want to go back to that. But I don't want this either. Honestly, I have no fucking idea what I want."

Tony was disconcerted over those descriptions of Bruce's past, though he didn't let it show. He didn't want to think of his friend as some junkie on the street but from the sounds of it there had been a time in his life when that would have been a pretty accurate way of describing him. Tony was kind of terrified by that thought.

He nodded at Bruce in understanding. The discussion was over for now. Tony left the room to go find Captain America and give him a lecture on tact. Once he was gone, Bruce simply collapsed back onto the couch and shut his eyes. He would apologize to Steve later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know who leaves comments and reviews? The best people. Do you want to be the best? If you leave a comment then you are officially the best. I don't make the rules this is just science talking.


	9. Birds, Spiders, and Being in the Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Clint come by the tower, only to find the air so thick with tension that a butchers knife would barely make a scratch.

Natasha and Clint found themselves dropping in to the Avengers tower on a semi regular basis, usually completely unannounced, ever since the Loki situation had ended. Sometimes separately, mostly together. It was oddly comforting for both of them to have a place to touch base that was beyond the reach of Nick Fury's one good eye. Not that they would dare admit as much to the owner of the tower. Sure, he had built each of them their own floor including fully decked out gym's/shooting galleries and all the cool toys. But even under torture they would still maintain they only came by to humor Stark lest his sun sized ego go supernova at the thought of his gifts being rejected.

The two agents had taken to spending time with the towers residents in different ways. Of course there was the team movie and game nights, but on a more individual level too. They enjoyed sparing with Steve, the Black Widow in particular giving him a run for his money. As for Tony they both had a habit of popping up in unexpected places and successfully scaring the shit out of him. Hawkeye nearly got burned by a laser once after jumping down from some scaffolding in Tony's lab while he was working on some new weapons systems for the suit. As for Bruce, they had taken to bringing meals to his lab, knowing that a lot of the time he would otherwise go without. Though they never actually talked about it beyond an inference here and there, the three of them shared a bond that stemmed from messed up childhoods and all being able to understand the feeling of being without any sort of home. They new what it was to have to hide, to be hunted, to be weaponized. Especially Bruce and Natasha.

Both agents had picked up on the fact that something had been wrong with him for a while. They were trained to spot a persons weaknesses. To see demons even as they skulk in the shadows. They had decided not to bring it up. Better to give him a chance to work it out for himself first.

Bruce and Natasha particularly had developed a fairly close relationship. It went unspoken of course, but it was still there. Once she got past her fear and started to see the man behind the monster, she had found that she could relate to him and that he was in fact a pretty cool guy with a good sense of humor. Kind of like Tony Stark but with a little more humility and a lot less asshole. He was battling some serious issues as of late though, and stepping in to do an intervention was a bit more touchy-feely than either her or Clint tended to go for anyone other than each other.

Having just got off a mission in the Congo both agents were looking for a little relaxation in their lives. The tower seemed the place to go. They entered the building unannounced as usual. They were convinced that JARVIS was in on the game seeing as the AI could easily alert Tony to their presence but apparently chose to remain silent. This time they simply used the elevators in the lobby, too tired to be bothered with theatrics. When they came to the common area they found an unusual sight. Tony, Bruce and Steve were sitting around the dining table, all of them seeming sullen and tense. They were picking away at their lunches, but only Steve was actually eating. It wasn't unusual for all of them to be sharing a meal, seeing as the two scientists often ate at the same time due to the fact that when one of them actually remembered to eat they usually made a point of forcing the other to do the same. And Steve just spent a lot of his time eating due to his amped up super soldier metabolism, so chances of running into him in the dining room were always pretty good. The problem here is that usually they would be talking, laughing, teasing each other. The air in the room hung thick with tension, each occupant so absorbed in their own thoughts that they didn't even notice they had been joined by the two agents.

"Wow. Nat, hand me one of the dozen knives you have hidden on your person right now so I can cut the tension in here," said Clint, drawing the three pairs of eyes away from their respective meals and towards him in surprise.

"No need. Now that we have the comedy stylings of Robin Hood's delinquent cousin I think we'll be okay!" exclaimed Tony sarcastically.

Clint just smiled and walked up to Tony, clapping him on the back.

"You know me, making people happy is why I live."

With that Clint headed straight to the kitchen, returning a moment later, ice cream in hand.

"So what exactly is going on here anyway?" asked Natasha suspiciously.

Tony looked over to Steve, who stared pointedly at Bruce, who had his face buried in his hands. Natasha and Clint exchanged glances, eyebrows raised. It was Steve who broke the silence.

"Nothing's that we need to discuss now I think. Let's just enjoy lunch."

Tony rolled his eyes at Steve's falsely pleasant tone. Bruce just sighed, looking up at the new arrivals.

"Actually, I'm not that hungry. But I'll catch up with you both later," he said with a tight smile.

With that, Bruce got up and took his almost full plate to the kitchen and left. Natasha and Clint considered going after him, but both decided to give him some space. Natasha sat herself down at the table while Clint was perched up on the bar.

"So, I'll ask again, what exactly is going on?" queried Natasha.

Steve and Tony looked at each other, debating over how much they should divulge. Steve was of the mind that the whole team should know. He was hoping that if enough of them were able to sit and talk with Dr Banner, show him how much support he had, that he would agree to let them help him. Tony on the other hand didn't want his friend to feel as though he had been ambushed. He could see Steve gearing himself up for some sort of intervention and was damn sure that was a terrible idea. It wasn't so much that he wanted to actively keep the bird and the spider out of the loop. Hell, he was pretty certain they would figure it out for themselves now that they were curious. The two of them were pretty cluey.

In the end Tony's warning stare won out over Steve's stern but imploring one. Sort of.

"Maybe you should ask Dr Banner about that," Steve said, looking up at Natasha pointedly.

Natasha raised one eyebrow, while Tony rolled his eyes again. Subtlety was not the Captain's strong point.

**###Avengers###**

Bruce was working away in his lab furiously. He was looking at a relatively new formula he had been working on to reverse the effects of the gamma radiation, so far with little results. He was absorbed deeply in his work when he was shocked back to the world by a voice.

"What're you working on doc?" inquired Clint, who was looking curiously over his shoulder Bruce's, Natasha standing a little behind him

"Shit! Every time. How do you even do that?" asked Bruce as he jolted up from the microscope he was bent over. "It's nothing. Just a pet project."

"So do you want to talk about whatever has gotten the Captain and his Sassy Sidekick upstairs all in twist?" asked Natasha, eliciting a laugh from Bruce.

"Don't let Tony hear you refer to him as the sidekick. He'll banish you from the building," responded Bruce.

"You really think that would keep me out?"

"Probably not," he conceded.

"So, you didn't answer the question," Clint cut in.

Bruce took a few slow breaths, staring blankly at the work bench.

"Surprised Rogers didn't tell you. He seems very keen on opening up a discourse on the subject," Bruce replied.

"He told us we should ask you about it," said Natasha.

"Come on Nat," Bruce said, giving her a knowing look. "I'd be shocked if you hadn't already figured it out. I mean, I can't say I've been at my most subtle lately and isn't it part of your job to be able to look at a person and know their every weakness?"

"That's a part of it," she admitted.

"I would've thought Stark would figure it out sooner to be honest. I mean isn't he a genius?" commented Clint, who was now sitting on top of Bruce's work bench.

"Not so much with people all the time. Honestly, I think he suspected a different problem. So why did you guys never say anything anyway?" Bruce asked, strangely at ease around the two assassins.

"We figured we'd give you time to try to work this out yourself. If you took too long or got yourself too fucked up we probably would have stepped in, but as is, it wasn't our business. Why did _you_ never say anything?" Natasha shot back.

Bruce thought for a moment. He had figured they could see past him for a while, so why did he still bother to keep up a front?

"Denial," he answered, bending over his microscope again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has already left Kudos or comments. That's the stuff that keeps me going guys! That being said, I could always do with more. Please please please leave a review. I would really appreciate it:)


	10. Poker Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper comes back to the tower. Bruce, Natsha and Clint have a show down in the rec room.

Pepper wrapped her arms around Tony who startled jerkily in response, having not heard anyone approaching over the blasting sound of rock and roll.

"Clint I swear to – Pepper! Oh thank Thor you're back," Tony sighed in relief, turning off the music.

"Thank Thor?" she responded with a raised eyebrow.

"Have you not embraced Thor as your lord and saviour? It's alright we'll get to that later. First, to the bedroom!"

Tony grabbed Pepper's hand and started off towards the exit of his lab. Pepper laughed lightly and pulled Tony back into a kiss. It was gentle and loving but she could feel the tension he held in his body.

"Not now, but later, alright? I would like to get something to eat for now. Then maybe we can talk."

Tony nodded and both of them headed to the private kitchen on their floor of the tower, not wanting to run into other people just yet. Once they had made themselves some sandwiches, they sat down at the table to eat. Tony was happy to sit quietly and just enjoy having her back, but Pepper was curious and concerned in equal measure about the situation that had arisen between the inhabitants of the tower. She was fuzzy on the details. Tony had called her about a week earlier, obviously upset but refusing to talk about the actual problem. At first he had deflected with his usual sarcastic quips before finally admitting that there was a problem with Bruce, but he didn't want to talk about it just yet. He said he was calling because he needed to hear her voice. She didn't press him after that.

She couldn't say for sure what was wrong, but she was working under the assumption that Dr Banner was going to leave again. She knew that this was something that worried Tony. She had also noticed that Bruce just hadn't seemed really happy for a while now. She'd been concerned, subtly informing the doctor that she was there to talk if he ever wanted to. Pepper had grown quite fond of the man. He was kind and considerate, but with a certain spark that reminded her of Tony.

"So are you going to tell me what happened?" she inquired.

"How have you been anyway? Working to hard as usual?" Tony said, ignoring the question.

"Tony, I care about him too, you know."

Tony was silent for a moment, torn between respecting his friends privacy (ok so he told Capsicle and Tasha and Clint knew too but for some reason he sort of felt that Bruce wouldn't want Pepper to know) and getting it off his chest. And so what if maybe he was also a bit of a gossip? From time to time. So some would say.

"I'm going to worry anyway. I know that something is wrong so you might as well just let me in on the secret. Besides, I know you're itching to spill the beans," Pepper said, interrupting his thoughts.

"Fine then."

Tony preceded to tell her the story, from how he found out to the blow up between Bruce and Steve. He told her that things had been relatively quiet since Sneaky and Sneakier had arrived. Bruce had been keeping to himself, and while he was clearly upset at the idea that his behaviour was hurting people, he didn't seem likely to stop any time soon. By the end of the tale Pepper was sitting tensely, eyes glazed over in thought. Life was never going to be simple for her or the people she cared about, was it?  
At least she could never complain that things weren't interesting.

**###**

Bruce, Clint and Natasha all sat gathered round a table in the rec room. Clint and Natasha stared down the scientist with piercing gazes. Bruce directed his eyes downward, all his energy being poured into maintaining a blank expression. The air was thick with tense anticipation. The two assassins were waiting. Expecting. It was beginning to become clear that Bruce had no intentions of meeting their expectations. They wanted him to keep going, yet clearly he was ready to fold.

"I raise $50."

Bruce spoke suddenly, eyes darting up to meet the stares of his friends as he placed his chips on the table. The move had surprised them. He had seemed so ready to opt out. Was it a bluff? A double bluff?

"I call," said Natasha, chips thrown into the pool.

"Me too," echoed Clint.

The three glanced at each other, nobody willing to make the first move. The pool was up to $2000 and while none of them really needed the money, each dollar represented pride and dignity that none were willing to forfeit. The tensions in the room were running so high that the boys both jumped minutely when Natasha spoke.

"We each show our cards on three. Agreed?" They nodded their heads.

"One," eyes studying the cards in their hands, checking and rechecking that they hadn't misread them.

"Two," the chips on the table were piled high, creating a barrier that would be broken by either victory or defeat. There was no middle ground.

"Three!"

Each player slammed their cards down onto the table, quickly examining the hands of their opponents.

" _Yes! **Fuck yes motherfuckers**!_ " Clint called out, jumping up on top of the couch and pumping his fists in the air. "Who got a straight flush? Was it you 'Tahsa? How about you Doc? No I don't think so I think it was me who got a straight flush and would you look at that I just won $2000! But don't fret losers I'll buy you some lun – Ow!" Clint jumped back as a poker chip struck him hard in the side of the head.

"Get off your high horse Barton. It was a lucky break," said Natasha, picking up another poker chip to use as a projectile when Clint stuck his tongue out at her.

Bruce slumped back in his chair. He could have just folded and left with his dignity at least. Anything would be better than Hawkeye's taunting. He and Natasha exchanged the looks of exasperated parents as Clint continued to brag, adding some rather complex acrobatics into his victory dance. Natasha just reached over and pulled his legs out from under him, landing him flat on his back on the couch.

"Dammit! Way to be a sore loser 'Tasha," Clint moaned.

"I think you might have deserved that one for being a shitty winner actually," Bruce chimed in. "As for buying us lunch, I'm thinking pizza is in order. You get on that Mr Straight-Fucking-Flush while I go check on my centrifuge."

"Wait, no, don't leave me alone with the spider!" said Clint, suddenly alert. "You don't know how she gets when I'm better than her at things! She'll do horrible things to me Bruce..."

"That's the idea," replied the doctor, stepping out of the room as Natasha approached Clint, a dangerous smirk gracing her features.

Bruce smiled to himself as he left the rec room, ready to head off to his lab. He really did have the centrifuge running, though they all knew that wasn't the only reason he needed to step away. The cravings were setting in. Bruce's mind was occupied as he walked past the kitchen so he didn't notice Pepper approaching from the other direction, apparently heading towards the rec room herself.

"Hello Bruce. It's good to see you," said Pepper with a friendly smile.

He turned in her direction and smiled back. He walked towards her and they shared a friendly hug.

"It's good to see you too Pepper. Do we have you back for long this time?"

"A few weeks thank Thor." Bruce stared at her questioningly. "Don't ask. Tony is a bad influence on me."

"Well it's lucky you're a good influence on him then," replied Bruce.

"So is that Clint and Natasha I can hear making a fuss in the next room?" asked Pepper.

"Indeed it is. We were just going to have some Pizza if you would like to join us. That's if you're not too tired, of course. I know how all that travel can take it out of you."

"I'd love to join you. I probably won't be up for long but it will be nice to catch up with everyone."

"That's great," Bruce smiled warmly. "I just have an experiment running that I need to check on but I'll be with you soon."

As Bruce turned and started walking in the direction of his lab he felt a gentle touch on his arm. He paused his movements, knowing instantly that Pepper knew everything. He suspected as much. Of course Tony wouldn't keep something like that from her. He was just hoping she would pretend nothing was wrong. He was hoping everyone could just pretend nothing was wrong. He didn't turn to look at her. He couldn't meet her eyes.

"If you need me, I'm here."

With those words Pepper removed her hand and walked into the rec room. Bruce stood silently for a moment. Her voice held no judgment.  
Bruce once again set off in the direction of his lab, taking a detour to his room along the way where his source of peace lay in waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I would dearly appreciate your reviews. They are like water for a person dying of thirst and right now I am so very thirsty.  
> Or something less dramatic.  
> I don't know just review please.


	11. Heart to Hearts at 3am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems that things will get worse before they get better. Tony pulls Bruce away from his lab for a midnight snack and neither are happy with the way the conversation goes.

Bruce's head was swimming. His fingers tingled numbly and his skin buzzed electrically. Blood flowed through his veins like molten sugar, burning hot and sickly sweet, hitting his brain as an explosion of euphoria. A white light spread across his body, from brain to heart, fingers and toes. For a few minutes every cell glowed. Soon though the electricity turned down, the light dimmed, and he was left in a state that could best be described as simply, deeply relaxed.

The others had thought that things were improving with Bruce. They had known for a long time that all was not well with their friend, but while the revelation that he was a drug addict was certainly distressing, it seemed that actually knowing the specific problem made it seem more manageable than when they didn't know what they were facing. Knowing the enemy, it became easier to think in terms of strategy, creating a plan of attack and then just doing it. It felt to the group as if by having everything out in the open, it would somehow be better. Bruce would somehow be better.

Unfortunately it didn't work that way.

Ever since being found out, Bruce had been more social than before. Sure, at first he felt too self conscious, too ashamed to want to be around his friends, but after the initial shock, they all just seemed to accept his problems and quickly stopped looking at him like he was some broken thing. He suspected that had more to do with wanting to avoid conflict than anything, but he would take it. Sure, they still urged him to get clean and they didn't exactly dance around the issue, but for the most part they started treating him normally when they realized he wasn't ready to listen to anything they had to say. Since he no longer had to hide, he no longer felt the need to isolate himself so heavily from those he cared about. Everybody seemed to interpret his renewed sociability as a sign that he was getting better. In reality things for Bruce were getting much, much worse.

In the moments that he spent with his friends, talking and laughing, he was often genuinely happy, but that feeling never lasted long. Those moments were the times when he was able to come up for air. As soon as they passed he was dragged back under, deep into the murky ocean of depression. Images would flash in and out of his head. Images of himself with a gun to his head. With a blade to his wrists. A rope around his neck. His mind would wonder and he'd find himself thinking of how he would do it, who would find him, how could he stop the other guy from making an unwanted appearance and forcing him to continue living. Every time he found his thoughts going down that path he would shake his head in horror. It felt as if he had no control over what was happening in his own head. He didn't want to die. He really didn't. He just couldn't stop thinking about it. The urge to hurt himself would often role over him like a tidal wave and every time it was a struggle to fight against it. The fact that he knew he would never be able to successfully go through with it thanks to the other guy was of no comfort. The thing was, those thoughts seemed to vanish when he was high, and so he tried to spend as little time sober as possible.

Bruce was endlessly frustrated. He should have been happy. He should have been content. He had a home. He had people who he loved and who loved him back. He had the facilities he needed to finally use his mind to it's fullest potential. He had everything he had ever dreamed of. For a little while it had seemed to be enough but so quickly he had just started feeling trapped. He felt that maybe if he could reverse the effects of the accident that let him stuck with the other guy then perhaps that would fix everything but all that did was kick-start those old obsessive tendencies and leave him feeling frustrated and inadequate. He honestly didn't even know why he was trying any more. Other than that time on the hellicarrier he hadn't unintentionally hulked out in years, and those were extreme circumstances to say the least. Sure he would never be happy about his condition, after all it had cost him so much, but he had thought he was beyond the point where he would let it destroy him. He had it under control. He didn't feel he really had a valid reason to feel the way he did and that just made him feel so much worse. His sadness wasn't justified and therefore his drug use wasn't justified, meaning a world of guilt for the pain it was causing others. And yet he had no intention of stopping.

After shooting up in his bathroom, once Bruce had recovered enough to stand, he returned to his lab to continue working. He had shelved his most recent attempt at curing himself, unsure whether it was a positive thing or not that he seemed to have lost interest lately even in the thing he had been unhealthily obsessed with. He had lost interest in a lot of things. Mostly he had been doing experiments with no particular end goal and continuing to do work with Tony on various projects. While Bruce had been working, comfortably numb for the time being, Tony had walked in, apparently looking to drag him off for food. Bruce looked at his watch.

"It's 3am. We could probably just wait until breakfast at this point," said Bruce.

"Have you even eaten since I last dragged you out of here for food?" asked Tony.

"Well no, but that wasn't that long ago. I'm not that hungry honestly."

"Buddy, I haven't seen you in almost two days. If you don't come with me to get food now, I'm going to have Dummy hold you down while I force feed you through a tube," threatened Tony, only half joking.

"Two days?" asked Bruce, looking dazed. "Shit. Maybe food is a good idea after all."

"How long has it been since you slept? Last time we saw each other you told me you hadn't slept for days and from the looks of things you've decided to go for a personal best in insomnia. How are you even standing? For the love of Thor, even I take better care of myself then you do and I'm pretty much famous for being a complete fucking mess of a human being."

"I'm pretty sure I hold the world record in being dysfunctional Tony. Even you, competitive as you are, could never quite reach my level," said Bruce with a smile as he walked towards the door. "Come on, lets eat."

The two men walked to the towers shared kitchen. It was empty, which wasn't unexpected. Clint and Natasha had been called back to work several weeks ago, and Steve had started doing missions with SHIELD himself, which had taken him away from the tower. Pepper was out of town on business as she so often was, leaving Tony and Bruce to their devices. Having few people around to drag him out to eat and to socialize, Bruce had barley left his lab for almost two weeks. He ate only when Tony reminded him to, and didn't sleep so much as occasionally pass out on the floor of his lab or bathroom for a few hours here and there. He'd been using with increasing frequency too. Basically, he was a complete mess and Tony was fed up with it. After the two men had heated up some microwave dinners, Tony decided to speak his mind.

"You're barred from your lab for the next week, by the way. I will have JARVIS remind you at regular intervals that you need to get food, and if you don't do so, I will find you myself and, well, you remember what I said about force feeding you. Seriously though, if you don't start sleeping you're on you're way to a full psychotic break."

Bruce looked mildly indignant at being given orders on his health and sleeping patterns by Tony 'barley more self preservation instincts than a lemming' Stark of all people, but didn't try to argue. He knew he was right and he was too out of it to fight Tony on the issue.

"Whatever. I suppose I could use a break," said Bruce, his voice monotone.

"Really? You're not going to fight me on this? No having a tantrum about how you don't need people watching over your shoulder? Where's the indignation? Where's the sarcastic eye rolling? Or are you just too high to give a fuck right now?" seethed Tony, surprising both of them with his sudden burst of anger.

"Can we not do this? Are you really going to fight me for not fighting you?" Bruce asked with a sigh.

"Right. I don't know what came over me. Maybe it has something to do with watching my friend waste away into some pathetic shell of human being who's willing to just do as he's told. Granted, I do so enjoy when people follow my good wisdom without argument, but you of all people should at least be chiding me for showing such arrogance as to give another human advice on healthy living!"

"What do you want from me Tony?"

"I don't fucking know! I want you to fight me? Show me you still care about something? I thought thought I'd have to chain you to a bed to force you to get some rest and stay away from your lab if for no other reason that few people in this world loath being given orders more than you. I've been leaving you be. We've all been leaving you be, hoping that you'd just come around on your own, but that's not going to happen, is it?" asked Tony, all anger turned to sadness by the end of his rant.

Bruce just stared past him, eyes unfocused. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but in that kitchen.

"Maybe you should go see a psychiatrist. You're depressed. You know how I despise admitting any sort of defeat, but I don't know how to help you Bruce. None of us do. Not when you don't seem to want to get better. We tried the whole 'just be there for him' schtick and clearly it isn't working."

"I don't think I can open up enough to a stranger for any sort of therapy to be actually successful," said Bruce, eyes staring somewhere above Tony's head.

"And you won't even try? The others haven't been left alone with you like I have. Even in the weeks they've all been gone, things have only deteriorated. I don't think they realize just how far gone you are. You're barley alive any more."

"Yet still far more than I want to be."

Bruce finally met Tony's eyes, seemingly shocked that those words had come out of his mouth. Tony felt his stomach twist sickeningly and in that moment he was so, so tired. Bruce scrubbed is hands against his face and shook his head gently.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. It was stupid," said Bruce shakily. "I just wish that we could all pretend that nothing's wrong. I hate you worrying about me. I wish you would stop."

"Well I think we both know that will never happen. You know why? Because I am of the personal opinion that if somebody is insistent upon destroying themselves then fine, but they have to do it with the full knowledge that everyone who cares about them is watching it happen.  
Rhodey told me that when I was in the hospital with alcohol poisoning, was it the second or the third time? I remember I was young. It didn't stop me and I don't expect it to stop you either. Just don't expect us to pretend like nothings wrong. We're not going to do that."

With that Tony stood up and walked out of the room, turning back briefly to look at his mess of a friend.

"Get some fucking sleep."

Bruce barley made it to his bed before collapsing into a 16 hour slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers, I feed off of your reviews! Truly though, they are the reason I keep writing this, so it would mean a lot if you would let me know what you think!


	12. Movie Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has never seen the Harry Potter movies. Clint is indignant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I know it's been a long hiatus. I've been at uni and my writing has very much been directed in other places. I never had any intention of abandining this story, but it seems I lost my passion for it for longer than I anticipated, and I'm very sorry for that. But hey! I've found a renewed interest in this story and I absolutely plan to publish more chapters over the coming month. Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with it.

Bruce became aware of a blunt aching radiating through his head as he slowly came back into consciousness. His skin tingled unpleasantly and the arm his head was resting on had gone completely numb. The light of his bedroom... no, the antiseptic smell indicated he was still in his lab? Wherever he was, the light sent darts of pain through his eyes as he pried them open, prompting him to leave them shut for the time being. As he woke up and tried to drag himself into a sitting position he became aware that his whole body was aching, not to mention the unpleasant feeling of his numb arm regaining sensation. How long had he been passed out?

"Morning sunshine!"

Bruce's eyes shot open as the loud greeting caused his headache to flare. He jerked violently when the first sight that greeted him was a face about 3 inches in front of his own.

"God-fucking-dammit Clint! Tell me the truth, have you ever intentionally caused a friend or acquaintance to have a heart attack? Because sure as hell act like it's a personal dream of yours."

"If that was what I was going for, I assure you Doc, I'd have achieved it by now."

"Is Natasha around too?" Bruce asked as he dragged himself into a sitting position, leaning heavily against the cupboard behind him.

"Her and Cap are off running an op for SHIELD. Something about a boat. So I see you've given up on such mundane practices as sleeping in a bed," Clint said, sitting himself on the edge of Bruce's work bench.

"Natasha and Steve have been doing a lot of ops together lately. Are they partners or something now?"

"Sort of. So you seem well this fine day. Do you usually get your beauty sleep on laboratory floors? Because it's really working for you."

"Weren't you and Natasha supposed to be partners?" Bruce asked, ignoring Clint's comments.

"Sort of. We're not cops you know; it doesn't exactly work like that with the whole partner thing. Besides, my expertise has been needed elsewhere as of late. Classified, so don't ask," he added at Bruce's enquiring look. "So, on the subject of Bruce's Beauty Bible, aside from sleeping on floors, what other pearls of wisdom can you offer me? Only eating when somebody else thinks to make you? Only sleeping when you pass out? Becoming every stereotype of a crazy cat lady, only without the cats?"

"Can we leave the cutting witticisms about the disastrous state of my life to Tony please? Although now that you mention it, a cat would be nice to have around..."

"Doc you can't even look after yourself, let alone a cat."

Bruce shot Clint a reproachful look. Sure he was probably right, but Bruce took offense nonetheless. Clint held up his hands in a defensive gesture, before hopping off the counter and offering Bruce a hand getting up. Bruce just stared at him blankly, apparently not having fully shaken off the grogginess of unconsciousness.

"Get up. We're getting pizza and watching a movie. I was thinking Harry Potter."

"I can do that," Bruce said, taking Clint's hand and allowing himself to be helped up. "You know, I've never actually seen Harry Pot – ouch!"

Clint had let go of Bruce's hand while he was half way off the ground, causing him to fall. He was standing over Bruce with a look of disappointment and shock on his face.

"You've never seen Harry Potter? I knew you were messed up Doc but this is too much."

Bruce stood up, this time without Clint's aid, and simply shook his head. He was smiling despite himself. He'd come to learn that Clint got a particular sort of joy from introducing people to movies he enjoyed. Bruce could already see the sparkle in his eye. Besides, if it distracted Clint from commenting on what a mess he was, then Bruce was all for it.

"I was sort of on the run for a few years there. Can't say I got to the cinemas as much as I'd have liked," Bruce said.

"Excuses excuses," Clint replied. "When Order of the Phoenix came out I was in the middle of stopping an assassination attempt in the Congo and I still found a way."

The two set off to the rec room, Clint ranting about how amazing the Harry Potter series was the entire time, instructing JARVIS to order pizza along the way. Before they got their however, Bruce had become all too aware of the early stages of withdrawal setting in. He must have been out for a while.

"Hey Clint I just need to shower and change into some clean clothes. I'll be ready before the pizza gets here alright?"

"Oh thank Thor. I wasn't going to say anything but holy shit, you don't need a shower so much as you need to be decontaminated. I guess that's what you get for trading in your bed for the floor though," Clint finished with a pointed look.

Bruce just rolled his eyes at Clint and turned the other way in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. He headed off to his room, heading straight into the bathroom. He stopped short of opening up the bathroom cabinet when he caught sight of his reflection. A sheen of sweat was coating his skin. He looked pallid, sick. He felt something in his stomach stir. It took a moment for him to realise it was something other than shame, and a moment later he found himself doubled over the toilet, heaving violently.

Bruce was familiar with the effects of withdrawal. He went to great lengths to avoid it, knowing that in that state he was at a higher risk of a Hulk incident. It's why when he had gotten clean in the past he had tapered off very slowly instead of quitting cold turkey. Unfortunately, though, there had been times where he had not been able to get his next hit in time to stave off the beginning of detox. This hadn't been a problem this time around, given that he didn't have the issue of running out of money and therefore drugs, but his tolerance was only increasing, meaning he could go less and less time without a fix before the symptoms set in. Apparently however long he had been asleep for had been enough to do it.

This was a worrying thought. He could feel his heart racing as he finished heaving out what little was left in his stomach. He reached up to the medicine cabinet and took out his gear. For some reason, he found the idea of storing his illicit drugs in a proper medicine cabinet oddly amusing. At least he was being civilised about being a degenerate, he thought.

Bruce went through the ritual, deliberately ignoring the grotesque amount of scars and track marks that now covered both his arms. When he finished he got up and clumsily undressed and showered.

About 20 minutes later, Bruce entered the rec room to find Clint sitting with pizza and popcorn, the first Harry Potter movie lined up and ready to go, with the Blu-ray editions of the other six movies lined up and ready to go. Clint was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement at being able to introduce Bruce to the series.

Somewhere in the fourth movie Tony and Pepper had come to join them. All in all, it was a great, if long and tiering night. Clint even made some effort to restrain himself from shouting commentry at the screen, as if this time around he could change the story for the better, if only Harry would just listen. Bruce pretended not to notice the way they stared and the sadness that crept into their eyes every time he excused himself from the room. They pretended not to notice the way Bruce's hands shook every time he reached for the popcorn.

They all knew there would be fights and tears to come in the future, but that night was a good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need reviews like Bruce needs a hug and a good therapist. Well, I could also use a good therapist, but for now reviews would be a nice alternative.


End file.
